ademy by Edward's
side, who husbanded every moment of his Ferdinand's society with jealous
care, and could not bear to lose sight of him for an instant. In one of
their most melancholy hours, excited by sorrow and youthful enthusiasm,
they bound themselves by a mysterious vow, namely, that the one whom God
should think fit to call first from this world should bind himself (if
conformable to the Divine will) to give some sign of his remembrance and
affection to the survivor.

The place where this vow was made was a solitary spot in the garden, by
a monument of gray marble, overshadowed by dark firs, which the former
director of the institution had caused to be erected to the memory of
his son, whose premature death was recorded on the stone.

Here the friends met at night, and by the fitful light of the moon they
pledged themselves to the rash and fanciful contract, and confirmed and
consecrated it the next morning, by a religious ceremony. After this
they were able to look the approaching separation in the face more
manfully, and Edward strove hard to quell the melancholy feeling which
had lately arisen in his mind on account of the constant foreboding that
Ferdinand expressed of his own early death. "No," thought Edward, "his
pensive turn of mind and his wild imagination cause him to reproach
himself without a cause for my sorrow and his own departure. Oh, no,
Ferdinand will not die early--he will not die before me. Providence will
not leave me alone in the world."

The lonely Edward strove hard to console himself, for after Ferdinand's
departure, the house, the world itself, seemed a desert; and absorbed by
his own memories, he now recalled to mind many a dark speech which had
fallen from his absent friend, particularly in the latter days of their
intercourse, and which betokened but too plainly a presentiment of early
death. But time and youth exercised, even over these sorrows, their
irresistible influence. Edward's spirits gradually recovered their tone;
and as the traveler always has the advantage over the one who remains
behind, in respect of new objects to occupy his mind, so was Ferdinand
even sooner calmed and cheered, and by degrees he became engrossed by
his new duties, and new acquaintances, not to the exclusion, indeed, of
his friend's memory, but greatly to the alleviation of his own sorrow.
It was natural, in such circumstances, that the young officer should
console himself sooner than poor Edward. The